


One More Miracle

by SheenaMoriarty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, mormor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 21:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheenaMoriarty/pseuds/SheenaMoriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seb has the shock of his life when he sees a familiar face--on every screen in London. Can he find it in his heart to forgive his boss after leaving him for two years?</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Miracle

It was a day just like any other for Sebastian Moran. That’s not to say it was an entirely normal day--no day was normal for Sebastian. Ever since Sherlock Holmes had single-handedly taken down his old boss’s criminal empire, leaving him with no room to do anything about it, he’d been building it up again, piece by piece. There was nothing else he could do. He’d debated letting it go, doing something else with his life, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He just couldn’t let Jim’s legacy die with him. Not if he could help it.

That particular day, he was in Piccadilly Circus, waiting. Every day at around that time, a businessman came through here on his way to the tube station from work, but not just any businessman--one of the men who had planned to blow up London earlier in the year. It was an insane stunt, never bound to work, but Seb had admired the man’s confidence. He knew that Jim would have, too, and so he waited for the would-be terrorist.

At around four-thirty, he spotted his man across the street, underneath the giant set of screens that loomed over the area. He smiled to himself, the adrenaline of chasing this person down already coursing through his veins, and he stepped off the curb to follow the man when he heard a noise that filled the square and echoed throughout.

Did you miss me?

His smile faded as the distorted voice reach his ears. You’ve got to be kidding, he thought to himself, looking all throughout the street for the source of the noise. A flash mob, he assumed, or something like it. Things like this always seemed to happen right when he was busy with a job. He always forgot to plan ahead like that, a detail that reminded him of Jim every time something went wrong with one of his solo operations.

After a moment, however, no dancers in matching uniforms flooded into the square, but he did hear the voice again, and again, and again.

Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?

Finally, he realized that the sound was coming from one of the screens. Sighing, not wanting to waste his time but knowing that everyone, even the man he was targeting, would be distracted for the moment, he turned towards the screens.

What he saw nearly made him drop the knife that he’d been holding (just in case--things do happen).

Not one screen, but every screen in the square had the same image, the same words projecting out from their speakers. The words “Miss Me?” shone from every angle, and the picture itself was unmistakable, even after two years. The picture was of none other than James Moriarty.

Sebastian couldn’t take his eyes away, long forgetting the reason he’d been there in the first place. Two years, two years of hiding and rebuilding what was lost, and his boss, the consulting criminal himself, had come back?

“That son of a bitch,” he muttered to himself.

Then, he ran to his apartment.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sebastian never tired as he bolted through the door and up the stairs to the flat he had once shared with Moriarty. When they’d worked together, they had agreed that, should the event arise that they had to quickly regroup during a job, they would meet each other in the apartment. If his boss really was back, he would have come here.

But that’s impossible, he thought to himself as he reached his floor. I watched him do it, I saw him die. There’s no way…

His thoughts were interrupted as he noticed that the door was already ajar.

Despite that, he kicked the door open anyway, pushing all of his strength into the wood as he ran into the room. He didn’t know what he was expecting to see, but once he saw the man in the Westwood suit, he stopped in his tracks.

Jim Moriarty was lying on his couch, legs crossed, a glass of red wine in his left hand, his other hand leaning over the side. The same image from the square played on their TV, and Jim had been watching it, a satisfied smile on his face, when he looked up at Seb, sweating and staring intently at him from across the room.

“Hello, Sebby,” he said, his smile growing to the gleeful, manic grin that Sebastian had come to know. “Did you miss me?”

Seb’s eyes narrowed, the off-hand comment sinking like a dagger into his heart. “You bastard,” he muttered.

Jim’s face fell, and he made to speak once more when Seb interrupted him, walking further into the flat and placing his hands on the arm of the couch. “You fucking bastard,” he said through gritted teeth, each word puncturing the air with staccato rhythm.

His eyes never left his boss as he placed his wine on the coffee table (avoiding the coaster as usual, Seb would have noticed if he hadn’t been so angry). Having done so, he looked his sniper straight in the eyes, which had a rare sympathetic look in them. “Now, now, tiger...you haven’t even given me a chance to explain myself,” he said, his eyes flashing with an intent that Seb couldn’t quite place.  
“And what is there to explain?” Seb asked, cutting Jim off before he had a chance to say anything. “You faked your death, is that it? Didn’t even think to tell your second-in-command? Fucking hell, Jim, Sherlock told his brother what he was doing, you didn’t even--”

Before he could finish his sentence, Jim sat up and held up a finger, and he stopped immediately. He was angry, sure, and him being angry could be dangerous, but when James Moriarty wanted you to be quiet, you obeyed. It was common sense.

Once Seb was quiet, Jim sighed and looked at him again. “This has nothing to do with Sherlock Holmes,” he started.

Sebastian couldn’t help himself. “Like hell it doesn’t,” he laughed bitterly.

The look in Jim’s eyes would have been enough to make a grown man sob uncontrollably, but he said nothing. He could have, he could have laid on a barrage of obscenities and anger, but he didn’t. He never would, with Sebastian, even when his sniper was like this. “It doesn’t,” he repeated. “This is about us.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes but said nothing.

Jim changed his position and leaned forward, so that his head was in between Seb’s arms. “You know that Richard Brook story wasn’t going to last long,” he said softly. “Hell, even that prick Anderson was beginning to suspect something, and I needed to do something drastic to keep people believing it.”

Listening intently, Seb nodded as his boss spoke. “Well, you did that much,” he said. Jim smiled at that, and he couldn’t help it, but his heart began to melt a little. He’d always loved that smile. “But what does that have to do with us?”

“If they went after me, they’d go after you,” he answered. “They’d find out everything, Seb--dishonorable discharge, all those years you spent working for me...what you were doing before I found you?”

Sebastian winced. He didn’t need to be reminded of the things he’d done, the damage he’d caused, as a personal assassin.

“And I couldn’t let that happen, Seb. And I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

Sebastian shook his head, an uncomprehending look on his face. “But what does that matter?” he asked. “You could have gotten out of prison, you’ve done it before...what did it matter what happened to me?”

He hadn’t noticed, but Jim had slowly been sitting up during this whole conversation. Now, his boss’s arms were right against his, and their faces were only inches away.

“Because, Seb, you idiot, I’m in love with you...remember?”

He did remember. During all those sleepless nights, all those jobs, all those murders and thefts and kidnappings, Jim was the reason he woke up in the morning. His empire was the only reason he was still living at that point...but he had no idea that Jim returned the favor.

“You...you are?”

The smile was back, and before he could object, Jim was kneeling on the couch and grabbing the collar of Seb’s jacket, pulling it towards him. “What a stupid question.”

Then, he slowly, gently held the face of his sniper, leaned forward just a bit more, and pressed his lips against Seb’s.

They stood like that for a long moment, and at first, Seb stood there, shocked. He’d never imagined this would happen...oh, but he’d longed for it. He closed his eyes, and soon, they were both embracing each other, running hands through hair and over every detail of their bodies, everything that they had missed over the torturous years that they’d been apart. Everything about each other that they loved.

Jim pulled away first, to breathe. “Oh...oh, I’ve missed you, tiger,” he whispered in a voice full of lust and passion.

Seb nodded, knowing that it was a horrible time to start crying and for God’s sake, Seb, stop it. “I missed you, too, boss,” he whispered.

Seconds later, Jim noticed a small droplet of water emerge from his sniper’s eye. He smiled sympathetically, reaching out to wipe it away. “Why don’t we continue this somewhere quieter?” he asked, his thumb running across Seb’s face.

Seb closed his eyes, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding at the touch. “Sure,” he said, smiling for the first time in months. “Whatever you want, Jim.”

He grinned as he got off the couch, reaching for the hand of his tiger, and they walked like that, the sounds of the entire world screaming at the return of the most dangerous man in London, hand-in-hand towards his--their--bedroom.

They had a lot of work to catch up on.


End file.
